


Exacta

by ursa



Series: Dead Heat [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Booty Call, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, LSD, Not Beta Read, Unrequited, accidental fluff, if you can call it that, lydia/stiles/derek, make out, mouths meets genitals, not the drug, prelude to, preslash, there is now sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursa/pseuds/ursa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t start with Derek. It actually started with Lydia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It didn’t start with Derek. It actually started with Lydia. It started with Lydia in her house in the middle of a party, maybe late last year, Stiles doesn’t to want to remember the details. It just started, right then, that party, one among the series of parties Lydia decidedly throws regularly in her practically empty house, for every so-called holiday and every day in the absence of her parents. It started when Jackson called her the day after, when she learned Jackson knew gratitude and regret, how he told her he loved her but he can’t, not when he died but not really, without knowing what happened, not knowing why he’s calling her and why she was the only one who called him back.

It started with Lydia in a party during fall, her hand gripping his neck tight, her lips pursed and her eyes glassy, and all Stiles could feel is the bile rising at the back of his throat, as bitter as the wax on her lips. He let her cling to him, cold palms grappling at him, breasts pushing at his chest and he could only reciprocate. His eyes were closed the whole time and he let her, thinking that his half-sober brain is enough to stop thinking about it and let it run its course.

It didn’t stop there though.

Once in a while, it comes up, maybe after a class or maybe just before exams and when it does he blanks out. He blanks out because he’d rather not keep nursing the same line of thought he had from before, up until he hit Jackson with his jeep. He blanks out and Lydia’s on him, eyes just as glassy as the first time, maybe her mouth is pursed, maybe it’s half open and wanting, and sometimes it’s just a thin line, as if he’s observing him as she splays her body on top of him half-clothed with just the right amount of skin to keep it going. She has delicate hands and the smell of her skin is artificial. He doesn’t mind though- not when he knows she needs this and maybe somehow she knows he needs it too.

And then it’s the winter formal all over again, her without a date and Stiles has plans of staying in, maybe watch a movie, a series, or two. It’s not like Lydia will have a hard time finding a date and it’s not like he’s looking for one. Last year was a disaster and he’d rather not remember the shit they went through the last time. He really doesn’t want to remember that. Scott’s going, stag, he says, he’s doing so good being all normal and unassuming, and Stiles likes that somehow, even with the occasional feeling of gut-wrenching fear that seems to spike whenever they hang out. It’s hard to get over the things they went through.

Maybe Lydia’s the same but hey, no one’s complaining with their respective ways of handling the truth. As long as he doesn’t think it, then everything is alright.

That is until the doorbell rings. It’s Lydia on the other side, a black coat wrapped around her, face devoid of makeup and hair undone. It’s like a punch to his gut seeing her like this. He wants to ask why but Lydia beat him to it with a hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and questioning as if daring Stiles to say no to this. He thinks he should be more adamant about it but her hand lingers and she’s stepping forward and his dad’s not home and he hasn’t really put anything in the DVD player. She licks her lips and keeps moving forward, halfway between hesitation and sheer determination and he lets her in, lets her hands move, and lets her body bump into his, chests flush to each other.

He’s taller than her by half a foot and it feels like it as her arms move to hang off his shoulders and her face so near his. He thinks he doesn’t know what to do but he’s moving anyway, his face tilting as she keeps moving forward. This is the first time they kiss sober and he thinks it should taste like candy just like he used to imagine it would be but it isn’t; it’s as bitter as the first time, as if there’s still vodka in her mouth with a barely there hint of raspberry. He doesn’t close his eyes this time and he feels her pushing forward and there’s a click and that’s the door she closed with her foot and maybe this is happening the way he used to imagine it happening.

She pushes and she pushes and he can only take, her arms locking around him and he could only wrap his arms around her to respond, their breaths mingling and it’s wet and he doesn’t know why she’s here but he’s not complaining. He leans back and she tips forward, trying to hitch on to him, scrabbling to get at his face and somewhere at the back of his mind, it’s freaking him out but Lydia’s relentless and he thinks it’s not just spit between them anymore.

They break it off and her forehead settles on his cheek and he holds her close, she’s tiptoeing and she’s clinging and her breaths are staggered. He breathes her in, her hair scrunching at his face and it’s awkward. He feels it though, feels the slight tremor in her frame, like she’s keeping herself from crying completely and it hits him that tonight’s the winter formal and it’s a disaster like last year and it feels like he shouldn’t be doing this just to preserve some of his dignity. He stamps it down.

Her head moves and he can feel her cheek brushing on his jaw, her lips hovering on the hollow of his throat and he continues to hold her tight, and she’s still clinging. He wants to think that he’s being a good friend because he knows he can’t be a boyfriend much less a good one, not for her, especially not for Lydia. There’s too much in between them and actually nothing at all, just the silence of the night hanging heavy with the reality that this is as far as they could be. And he’ll take it anyway; he’ll take it because it’s better this way than to be like Scott who’s lost, the moment his eyes land on Allison at the other side of the cafeteria.

He feels her mouthing against his collarbone now and he stops himself from whimpering and he’s hard. It doesn’t take much time at all, with his body easily less concerned about what his brain is telling him. His arms loosen and he finds himself gripping her waist, one hand brushing her hair away as he brushes his lips on her temple, across the skin between her cheek and ear and just smelling the underside of her jaw. She pulls her arms back forcing him to move and he cups her face with her hands but she’s not looking at him, she’s looking at his lips and she looks like she’s thinking and Stiles can’t take that look so he swoops and kisses her again. She doesn’t stop him even as she let out a startled gasp and he just kisses and he closes his eyes.

He licks into her mouth, across her teeth and into the roof of her mouth and she moans. Her hands are on his hair now mussing it up, he hasn’t bothered cutting it for a while now and she’s pulling at it and this is actually good, being lost in the sensation and not the words running through his head. He’s hunched over her, his hands moving from his tight grip on her waist to the small of her back and up and back down and she clings to him and that is her ass on his hands and it’s nice, feeling like his age, making out in his house a foot away from the front door.

It feels like a first time, like he’s never really done it before; maybe because he’s stone cold sober right now, maybe because she is, or maybe because he never really got over loving her and this is probably the only true way he can love her. And it’s such shit and he couldn’t help the snicker that escapes him as he parts from her mouth and she’s wide eyed in disbelief and he looks down and chuckles, never looking in her eyes because as real as the body he has in his arms right now, there’s always the truth that this is what it is, a fucking booty call because he’s pathetic like that. He lets go.

She looks halfway into getting fucked, lips red, cheeks pink; she looks like the girl he found naked on the outskirts of the forest a year ago. He steps back, unaware with what to do with his hands and he can’t look her straight in the eye and he lets out a loose chuckle more like a sharp exhale and he thinks he wants to cry with her tonight instead of fucking her, getting fucked by her. He grits his teeth, trying to piece together what to say to her until he hears her titter, and he looks at her and Lydia’s smiling sheepishly. She’s wrapped her arms around her, legs twisting slightly, a coy stance as if she was caught making out with a boy. Stiles is looking at her from beneath his eyelashes, a small smile forming slowly into awkward half-grin.

Lydia steps forward, arms reaching Stiles’, the same hesitation coming back and it confuses Stiles why she’s acting the way she is. It’s hard to understand a girl when she doesn’t speak, when her eyes seem to say things he’s supposed to already know. Her hand wraps around his wrist and she’s reaching forward again and he could only follow her gaze as she eyes him from where she’s touching him and she looks like she wants to kiss again.

She stops just before their lips touch and Stiles’ free hand spasms at his side. He can feel his heart racing at this display. Lydia never went out of her way to seduce him, not when each time then happened in a haze of alcohol, and this is exhilarating and he really needs to get in over his head right now because he can’t let Lydia have this; she’s going to break his heart all over again and he really doesn’t want that. But her eyes are yielding now and she’s hesitating and maybe if he just kisses her right now with wide open eyes, he can let it happen and just _stop thinking._

He snaps back but Lydia doesn’t let him, both hands now grasping his wrists and she’s looking at him with desperation now, like she’s silently begging Stiles to get on with the program, that she’s sorry all the same, that she needs this, that she needs Stiles.

A beat and- _fuck it._

He kisses her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in the living room, on the sofa.

They end up on the couch with Lydia straddling him, her chest heaving against his collarbone. It’s dark out and her hair is obscuring any light that would let him see her face fully. She’s peppering kisses on his face and he can’t see her, except with his hands, roaming in the inside of her coat and he realizes he never had a choice to begin with. She was naked underneath save a camisole and her panties and Stiles doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not. But they’re kissing again so maybe it is.

His hands find her thighs and he rubs his palms over them, under, and she’s breathing into his mouth, a tiny groan slipping out. Her hands are on his shoulders, sweeping to wrap around his neck and back down to palm at his biceps. Her thighs are continuously shifting, grinding against his lap and it feels blissfully painful as it forces the teeth of his zipper to dig against the underside of his dick. He’s practically purring now, a stretched out groan stuck in his throat and Lydia’s mouth is wet on his lips. She whispers something then but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears drowns out her sigh.

The non-reaction sends Lydia to back off a little, arching, the length of her body stuck flush against Stiles and she pants, catching her breath. She’s looking at him with lidded eyes, hands finding the lapels of her coat, thumbs fingering the underside, hesitant to strip. Stiles stares back, his hands still full of her fleshy thighs. He licks his lips and she breathes. A moment passes and its Stiles’ hoarse voice that urges Lydia to _go on, let me see._

It makes Lydia’s breath catch and she moves, body pliant to his voice and it’s sending a strange thrill through the both of them. Lydia calls the shots. Lydia sets the rules. Lydia commands. But then this is Lydia, camisole and a coat shy away from Stiles, this is Lydia during the Winter Formal She Did Not Attend, this is Lydia with no one else but Stiles. And this is Lydia, the girl that got Stiles to face a crazed alpha, the girl that made him go through so much by doing so little, the girl that broke his heart without meaning anything at all. And right now, she’s on his lap, pushing him to an edge he never thought would happen but sure did imagine.

She takes her coat off slowly, rosy skin showing inch by inch and her satin camisole hiding nothing and everything. Stiles’ throat clicks as he swallows, staring unabashedly as Lydia reveals herself to him. He’s gripping her thighs harder now, all of his self-control being pried from him and she’s not doing anything to stop it. The coat falls and Lydia breathes. There’s a hitch there and she’s looking away, eyes finding purchase on the threadbare throw pillow squashed by Stiles’ trembling form.

This is the first time she’s willingly presented herself to anyone besides Jackson and she feels oddly shy of it all, as if Stiles has something to say against how she looks. She feels inadequate somehow but then Stiles is moving, his hands to her shoulders, towards her neck and his left thumb touching her jaw and she looks back at him. His eyes are blown wide and his mouth is wide open and he’s breathing through his mouth and she can smell sweet scent of cola off of his exhales. It shouldn’t be as alluring as it should be but it is and she’s leaning forward and he’s swooping up, kissing her.

There is tongue and the slide of her lips against his makes it wet and they’re breathing each other in. It’s sloppy at best, Stiles’ experience focused solely on what he had been doing with Lydia before, and it burns deep in her to know that it was always her, have been till now, Stiles’ girl.

He doesn’t stop even after he breaks off the kiss, continues to lap against her skin, on her jaw, open-mouthed as he keeps tracing a path down to her neck, across her collarbones, her chest. He breathes in and groans and her hands are grasping at his shirt, knuckles grinding against his spine. And he breathes and his hands slide inside her camisole, scratching at her ribs.

Lydia’s head is thrown back and her thighs open wider to get closer at Stiles. She’s grinding down and the awkward set of her legs is making her cramp up and she’s whining.

She suddenly finds herself falling to her side, Stiles manhandling her to lie on the couch, his hands grabbing the backs of her knees and pulling upwards, and he’s above her, eyes suddenly intense. This is not the first time he’s made Lydia feel vulnerable but this is definitely the first time she’s made him feel in control.

It is **exhilarating**.

It’s as if Stiles filled out whatever space he used to compensate for with his spastic movements with his body, his broad shoulders more pronounced and his arms caging her against the couch. He’s looming and she realizes how much taller Stiles is than Jackson, how much more imposing Stiles could be if he wants to.

And somehow he carries this very well even as unknowing he could be of himself most of the time. It makes Lydia’s heartbeat quicken, focusing on what she ignored before. Her hand shoots out, clutching at the fabric on Stiles’ shoulder, pulling and Stiles pulls along, ridding himself of his shirt.

Her hands move, touching every inch of Stiles’ torso, scratching lightly at his belly and he grunts, head lolling forward as he watches her hands slip downward between them. Cheek to cheek, they watch as Lydia traces the trail of coarse hairs from his navel towards where it disappears into his jeans. She thumbs at the metal button, the rest of her fingers going inside his pants and he groans at the sensation.

She huffs at him and she bites her lip as she teases out the button, unzipping him, prying the teeth one at a time. She pulls down, exposing his stained boxer briefs and she giggles lightly as he shimmies out of the pants completely. He brings his mouth back to her face, nipping at her nose before sucking at her mouth vigorously. It makes her breath hitch as he crowds into her more, bringing his crotch against hers. He’s curled above her, back arched to maintain contact, and there’s a sort of aggression in this that she’s never seen Stiles as, making a burn so deep in her gut that she feels like taking over and make this fast, inelegant, animal. It scares her a bit, realizing that even with all the times she’s spent in Jackson’s bed, she’s never thought of him like she would this boy right here.

It doesn’t stop her from swinging her leg over Stiles’ waist, though. The position gives her that ample space to thrust up and meet Stiles’ grinding down. They rub against each other and she’s whining again and he’s making these deep moans that make his chest rattle against hers and his hands are fisting the side of the couch now, and she’s pushing up and that’s his mouth on her neck and she’s wailing. Her hands are scrabbling at his back, and they’re just rocking at each other, the springs of the sofa squeaking under them. She whimpers out his name and her eyes are blown wide when she arches up and Stiles is grabbing her by the waist, pushing her upwards, and the arm of the sofa is digging at her back as he just rips off the camisole without any preamble.

She’s still trembling as he finds his way across the expanse of her body, between her breasts, under them, her ribs, her navel, and his mouth is making these languid kisses just a few inches shy from the garter of her panties. She feels so wet and she’s stuttering out, gasping.

And then he’s tracing kisses back towards her neck and she finds herself being embraced, straddling Stiles again and her forehead is against his and their faces are slick with sweat. She can feel Stiles’ erection against the inside of her right thigh and it’s warm and still hard even as he’s planting these kisses on her naked body. Stiles hands are large, grabbing at her ass and digging his fingers in and it’s making her keen against his cheek. She can’t stop her hips from grinding down and squeezing him between their thighs.

She’s naked on Stiles’ couch and she’s wet from her first orgasm and Stiles’ eyes are shut as he mouths at her chest. He’s grown his hair long this past year and it tickles the underside of her jaw and she tries to get herself together again, all heaving breaths and caressing hands.

_Lydia._

She looks down at him and she sees his eyes glazed, lips red and wet mouth open. She can see it, how much he wants. But he’s not taking it and it’s weird and frustrating as she remembers how she loomed over her minutes prior. She licks down, from his chin, across his open mouth where his tongue licks back, to the tip of his nose. She cradles his face, thumbing at that mole and she smiles.

_Oh._

Stiles’ reaction makes her smile wider and she moves her hands down back, palming his crotch. It’s tight between them, hot, and there’s a bigger stain on his boxers now and she thinks that’s her fault. It makes her giggle a bit and Stiles smiles dopily before his face scrunches and he moans as Lydia grips his cock around the fabric. He’s awfully hard.

_Lydia, c’mon._

She kisses him again, tongue moving in sync with her stroking. He curses under his breath before grunting just as she slips her hands inside his boxers and gripping at the head of his cock tight. He’s wet as she is, precum copiously covering her delicate fingers and he’s trying to thrust up to continue the slide of her grip around his dick. She breathes out a word into his lips before devouring him again and kisses back and groaning an affirmative. She lets go and she’s suddenly being lifted, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips and his hands supporting her upright. She keep kissing him, messing up his hair as he moves them around the sofa and towards his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who knew porn could be dragged on like this.  
> penetrative sex coming up next.
> 
> PS: i am also very sorry i ran out of synonyms for some words.  
> PPS: i really need a beta. my eyes are not enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly in the bedroom-

They keep hitting the walls of the hallway and she giggles every time they do and he huffs at her, smiling small against her lips. They reach his bedroom and they fall into the bed before Stiles is scrambling off of her to find that long forgotten stash of seminar condoms inside one of his drawers. Lydia watches him, hands grazing across the bedspread, waiting for him to find at least a packet.

Stiles lets out a noise of success before scrambling back into the bed, bouncing Lydia slightly off and it shoots a thrill in her, seeing Stiles like this, halfway manic, halfway determined. There’s a slight tremor in his movements and she can see the flush of his skin spreading across his shoulder and neck. He’s fumbling at the packet and she crawls towards him, face lowered and ass up, elbows supporting her frame and her hands slide across his thighs and her fingers hooking at his boxers. It makes him stop and look at her and she smirks at him before pulling down and freeing his swollen cock. She licks a stripe from the root to the tip and she feels him shudder above her.

His boxers are a tangled mess around his thighs and he’s trying his best not to topple over as Lydia begins taking him in her mouth and the packet crumples in his fist, his other hand shooting to hold Lydia’s head. It’s one of Lydia’s least favorite things to do and yet, with Stiles clumsy reaction, a too tight grip on her hair and that continuous groan he’s letting out, it’s very hard not to keep going. She was not kidding when she told Allison she does a lot of sucking for Jackson’s benefit.

Just as the tip of his cock meets the back of her throat, he’s pulling her by the hair away, eliciting a hiss out of his mouth as his dick slicks out of hers. He’s kissing her suddenly, drawing her up by the back of her head and she settles her forehead on his shoulder. He’s trying to open the crumpled packet and the condom falls off and she stifles a giggle as he chuffs at his clumsiness. She lets her hands roam, rubbing her palms against his thighs and he’s trembling and quite unsure how to just slip the damn rubber on.

She kisses him again, this time well and prepared and she’s moving onto his lap and he bites his lip when their crotches meet. She slides her hand down and guides him in and he’s whimpering at her grip, his hands on her thighs suddenly clasping and tightening as she sinks down. Stiles may not be well acquainted with how these things go on a face-to-face level but when she sits reassuringly on his thighs he knows this is just it.

Lydia is still, silent save from her heavy breathing and she smiles at his mouth when he moves his hands to cup her ass. Stiles, though, Lydia’s pretty sure he’ll be biting the red out of his lips by the end of this.

And then she moves and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forwards when he tries to thrust up and now she’s on her back and Stiles just hit that spot that makes her moan out so loud and Stiles kisses her-

_Oh my god._

They don’t mean to say it out loud at the same time and it makes Lydia laugh breathlessly at the sheer comedy of this situation. Stiles is muffling his own reaction on her chest and Lydia can’t bring herself to pull his face to kiss him. He just keeps hiccupping between her breasts and she retaliates with a squeeze and he moans. _Come on, Stiles._

He breathes in, taking in the smell of her before moving, slowly at first, dragging his hips forwards and back and Lydia’s dragging her nails across his arms. It feels incredibly hot between the both of them and Stiles is too punch-drunk with lust to think more than the tight squeeze around his dick and the slick slide of Lydia no less. They keep moving, trying to pace themselves but Stiles’ hips are stuttering on their own accord and Lydia’s hands are everywhere.

Two, three more before Stiles suddenly arches his back, choking onto Lydia’s collarbone and cumming. It’s anti-climactic for her and Stiles doesn’t know any better when his eyes are rolling over the back of his head and his hips just stop. Lydia doesn’t get off until she shoves her hand between them, rubbing at her crotch and she’s suddenly meeting Stiles shoulder with a bruising bite.

They’re both trembling at the end of it and Stiles is heavy against her. His panting is tapering off and he’s making no effort to roll over and Lydia feels sore and sticky and the fact that this happened is suddenly crashing into a pretty big realization for her.

Her breathing is still rapid and there’s a random spasm trailing on her right leg and she can feel Stiles’ finger thumbing circles on her hip. It doesn’t make her any more comfortable.

_Stiles._

He looks at her under his lashes, lips still red, and it looks like he’s not thinking at all with his small smile and pink skin. She can’t bring herself to smile back at him because he’s heavy and she purses her lips before _Stiles you’re heavy._

His eyes suddenly flicker, the smile thinning out and he moves onto his back, opting to stare at the ceiling. She lies beside him, breathing quietly, trying to assess what to do next. _It doesn’t have to mean anything._

There’s a crack in his voice when he says it and Lydia knows it’s more than anything he’s ever gotten from her but he’s choosing to give her the easy way out because it’s true, it doesn’t have to mean anything not when there was nothing between them in the first place. A nothing that may be due to the fact that Lydia’s into someone else and Stiles-

_I should go._

He closes his eyes and breathes. _Okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY.  
> If it's bad sex fic please do tell me. Just tell me.  
> Typos- game.  
> Grammar- game.
> 
> I'm trying this thing called learning and I really do not want to fuck up the next part of the series.
> 
> Although I AM VERY MUCH SORRY FOR THE ANGST.
> 
> Please do read Parlay if you want more of an insight as to what Stiles is to Lydia and back.
> 
> And this is the grueling end of my trying desperately to write het sex and stydia. And bow.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a prequel. Might be OOC. Also, take note of italics. I don't use quotation marks.
> 
> PS: You might be wondering why the titles. I do too.  
> PPS: Feel free to call me out for all the mistakes. I'm bad at grammar.


End file.
